


I wanna be your dog

by firstaudrina



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6452821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She gets a sudden sense of the man he was before. One who tucked in his kids. Who sang along to the radio. Are they different, or was he always both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I wanna be your dog

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a wonky timeline. Originally posted [**here**](http://stainofmylove.livejournal.com/249433.html?thread=6664793#t6664793).

The gunshots are still in the air – the sound of them, the dust from Karen's swiss cheese walls. These are her things, her place, her home and now her apartment just looks like somebody's target practice. Frank's body is still on hers, shielding her. Trying to protect her. Maybe she's got a complex, but that right there is why she believes him.

"We gotta get out of here," he grumbles, rough like he smokes too much and talks too little.

Karen is still lying prone as he gets up, hair candyflossed around her buzzing head, and she thinks she might cry, but then she doesn't. 

He looks at her, just looks down at her, and cocks his head a little. "C'mon, blondie," he says. 

He gives her his hand and Karen takes it.

 

 

Frank is waiting for her in the police-protected hotel room, which just goes to show how protected it is. It's not even a good hotel. It's a horror movie joint, scuffed wallpaper and yellowing carpet, duvets you wouldn't want to shine a light on. Frank slumps in the chair by the window. Karen hadn't been lying when she said she needed to sleep for half a day so she steps out of her shoes and pours herself onto one of the crummy beds, brings her knees up to her chest, curls up.

"No time," Frank tells her.

"Five minutes," Karen sighs. "Five minutes, five minutes, I need it."

She can't really see his eyes between the bruises and the brim of his hat but she knows how Frank is looking at her, because Frank always gives her the same flinty, obscured, certain look. 

"Don't you sleep?" she asks him.

"Nah," Frank says. "You don't either. I know that."

"You know that," Karen sighs.

Frank always holds his body with the kind of easy control that can slide into threat at any moment, like the kind of boys Karen remembers from school who hung out in the parking lot leaning on their cars and smoking. _Bad boys_ , she thinks with a laugh that finds its way halfway to her lips, boys in black coats who never went to class. Karen lost her virginity in the backseat of one of those cars.

"What're you laughing about," Frank says, but he sounds lighter, like he can sometimes. Karen flops over onto her back, skirt pulling at her legs and hair tangling.

"Punch drunk."

"Punch drunk," he muses. "Alright. Take an hour. I'll watch." 

Karen looks at him, brow creasing. "We can't. I'll get up."

"You wanna faint, be my guest," Frank says. "I said I'll watch." 

The frown on her face doesn't fade as he stands and comes over to her, bending to pull up a corner of the tightly tucked-in duvet and drag it over her. Looking up at him, again, this time in a dim room with her body sinking into a strange mattress, she gets the sudden sense of the man he was before. One who tucked in his kids. Who sang along to the radio. Are they different, or was he always both?

"Don't let me hit snooze," she says, and his tensed mouth quirks into a smile.

 

 

Karen wakes up exactly one hour later to a hand roughly shaking her shoulder and she panics for a second, displaced and overtired even after a nap. She grabs for his wrist as she shoots up, other hand punching in a blind fist that Frank catches. "Hey, hey, hey," he says. "Hey there, it's alright."

Karen is breathing too fast, body trapped in fight or flight even as she looks at him, remembers that this is a man she has chosen to trust. Even if she knows she shouldn't. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Frank says again. She realizes that he's sitting on the edge of the bed, the closest Frank has been to her outside of a courtroom. This is different, understandably. Karen's fingers flex, their arms still all caught together, hands gripping wrists. He doesn't let her go and his head tips back a little so she can see his eyes considering her from the black and blue that surrounds them. "No time for that."

"For what?" Karen says, pretending, and tilts her face a little bit too. Creating the space, letting it pull taut between them. Frank sighs and then laughs, rough and full of more breath then sound, so that's when Karen kisses him, hard, all teeth. 

"Aw, come on," Frank mumbles but his hand comes up to cup the nape of her neck, hard and immovable, fingers tense. Karen knits her fingers behind his head so she can lean back into his grip but still kiss him hard enough to hurt. Her heart is still beating painfully. She wants to feel the force of the kiss in her whole body. 

When she pulls him down, Frank follows, his body covering hers – the weight of him, arms caging her in and Karen arching up into him like she didn't, earlier. Her heart thumping in her chest. Not having to be nice or gentle but feeling a kind of rawness that strips her skin. Frank's skin rough against her, stubble, his bruises probably tender. Karen isn't careful around them. She isn't careful about anything.

Her fingers curl against his belt buckle and that's when Frank jerks his mouth away from hers, his face buried briefly in the juncture of her shoulder. "I can't," he says. "I can't do it."

He pulls away from her, not making eye contact, jams the hat back on his head to hide his face. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "I can't do it."

 

 

In the car, later, her lips feel bruised.


End file.
